


In which Tarvek thinks too much

by Overlord_Bethany



Series: unreliable narrators [3]
Category: Girl Genius (Webcomic)
Genre: Mid-Canon, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-15 14:02:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13614864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Overlord_Bethany/pseuds/Overlord_Bethany
Summary: ...and maybe gets a little unexpected help.





	In which Tarvek thinks too much

Tarvek leaned against the gunwale, watching the lights of Calais recede in the distance. No more interruptions. He would get the pollution out of Gil’s brain, and then…

No, it was ridiculous to even begin to imagine that Gil would be his. He could dream all he liked. He could fantasize about the man he had pined for in Paris. He could warm himself with thoughts of the multiple times Gil had saved him. None of that would make their betrothal real. Nothing he could do could make Gil desire him. It was miracle enough that Gil loved Agatha, and if he were a better person, Tarvek would have managed to leave them to have each other without his interference. 

The fact remained that he could not. He could not force himself to walk away from love again, not when it crushed him, suffocated him from every side. He thought of that kiss between the two of them, Agatha and Gil, and every time he did, he felt such intense longing as he had never known. He wanted a taste. He wanted to be included. He wanted them to reach for him and draw him into their moment of passion, the three of them together, as it should be. 

Such things were not done. 

He almost laughed at his own thought. “Not done.” Those words meant little to any Heterodyne. If Agatha wanted them both, she would make her intention clear. Tarvek would agree to whatever she wanted of him, but Gil? He didn’t know, and the not knowing bothered him. 

“Prince Gloomypants!” Bangladesh DuPree sauntered over and punched him in the arm in a friendly way that reminded him of Violetta. “Pouting causes airsickness. Everyone knows that.”

“I thought I was Squealy.”

“Not when you make that face. Cheer up, or you’ll make yourself vomit. Maybe over the side. Maybe on the deck. Maybe—”

“It couldn’t make the smell worse,” Tarvek interrupted. He didn’t need a detailed discussion of airsickness. He had experienced it often enough. 

“You’d be surprised!” DuPree dealt him another punch in the same place. It would definitely bruise. “This one time when Gil had too much absinthe—”

Tarvek let her prattle on. It seemed to make her happy. Leaning back against the gunwale, he gazed out into the boundless night, and he allowed his mind to wander. Which Muse should he offer Gil? Tinka was simply out of the question, of course, and she was rather attached to Moxana. Gil may or may not take offense at receiving Otilia’s battered and headless husk. If Gil refused to choose, then Tarvek would have to build him a new one. 

“That’s better!” DuPree interrupted her story to crow in delight. “That’s the face of a person who gets things done, not a person who pukes over the side.” A third punch fell on his burgeoning bruise. Did Gil have to put up with this all the time? That explained so, so much. 

Tarvek pushed himself upright. “A person who gets things done should get adequate rest. I’m going back to sleep for a few hours.” Beside Gil. Possibly near enough to feel his warmth. He took a few steps before he paused, half-turning. “DuPree?”

“Yeah, Squealy?”

“Thanks.” 

He smiled into the night, and they both knew he meant it.


End file.
